


you can keep your clothes on

by Tav



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'Stripper' Sam, Alternate Universe - Politics, Bachelor Party, Bigots, Coming Out, Covenants, Denial of Feelings, Fake coming out, First Time, M/M, Racism, Stereotypes, Weddings, leads to real coming out, unexpected love happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-17 12:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11275713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: Steve Roger’s life was mapped out for him before he was even born. From schools to sports and from friends to lovers. His Valedictorian Speech and his inevitable run for Congress, Steve’s father has done everything in his power to make sure that Steve is that All American Golden Boy that any father would be proud of.And Steve IS perfect… until he brings his fake boyfriend home to meet the family the day before his little sister’s wedding.





	1. Chapter 1

“You can keep your clothes on,” Steve takes a sip of his scotch and removes the man’s hand from his thigh, “I just need you for one night.”

 

“They all do, blue-eyes,” he purrs into Steve’s ear and Steve is certain that it’s merely the physical contact that he’s so unaccustomed to that has him frustratingly hard. Painfully so as the dark stranger slides that very same persistent hand into the open buttons of Steve’s shirt and over his firm pecs. His other hand is skating through Steve’s hair and massaging his scalp in a way that has Steve’s eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. Steve has paid for this; he can indulge if he really wants to. But it’s wrong. The severity of its repugnance is what led Steve to it in the first place.

 

The limousine is dim, only lighting up every few seconds when it briefly dips beneath a streetlight. But in those short moments, Steve is well aware of the speckles of honey in his eyes that sparkle like bits of caramelized sugar. Aware of the gap in his teeth when he smiles far too temptingly. Aware of the way his brown skin looks absolutely perfect against Steve’s paleness - the mere contrast arousing Steve to the point that fingertips alone elicit subtle shudders and leave fierce splotches of crimson with every inch of flesh they cover. But nothing compares to the jolt of heat that courses through Steve’s entirety when the man’s lips close over Steve’s very sensitive earlobe before gently sucking it in with wicked precision. Steve has discovered more of his own erogenous zones having spent three minutes in the vehicle with this man than he has during his handful of failed sexual conquests.

 

“Well I’m looking for something entirely different,” Steve somehow finds a massive load of reserved restraint, forcing himself to the furthest end of the limo where it’s supposed to feel safe, but doesn’t. “It’s something I’m not sure you even do or have ever done before. I’ll even pay you more not to tell your boss about it.”

 

Steve’s admission immediately puts a halt in the stranger’s advances mere inches away from having Steve in his skillful hands once again. And Steve notices lust morph into apprehension, something he can hardly blame the other man for. Because although he’s never been to a Gay Gentlemen’s Brothel before, he highly doubts that anyone has ever forked out a few too many extra thousands of dollars for rights to take one of the manager’s boys home with no intentions of having any kind of sex with them.    

 

“You’re not one of those freaky, rich white boys into that _Fifty Shades of Grey_ bullshit,” he says carefully, brow raised. “Because if I wanted to be strung up and whipped I’d go back to the 1900’s.”     

 

And Steve knows it’s dark but he can’t help but laugh; his first genuine bout of laughter since he can’t even begin to remember. But he makes a point of sobering a lot sooner than he would’ve liked to, because the uneasiness on his guest’s face is quickly changing to full on panic.

 

“It’s nothing unusual like that,” Steve’s buys time to find the right words by refilling his glass, retrieving another and then motioning the crystal tumbler to his panicked passenger who eyes it with intense scrutiny.  “It’s a one hundred year old scotch, it’s really good.”

 

“I don’t drink on the job,” he declines easily, leading Steve to believe that his depraved spell of unadulterated sexual frenzy had all just been a really good act. Mr. Fury was right; he really is the best guy in the house. Steve prides himself on his faultless judge of character, but this guy had fooled him far too easily. The attentive man sitting beside him now is not at all the same wanton slut he’d been only seconds before.  

 

“What’s your name?” Steve suddenly feels the need to know, the urge to put a proper heading to the unexpectedly urbane exterior. Steve is certain no other man he’s been auctioned to has ever bothered with such small talk when all Steve’s inquiry does is up the stranger’s obvious incredulity. Steve actually feels sad at the thought of this.

 

“Jerome,” he offers.

 

“The truth,” Steve pushes, grateful that not _all_ of the many talents he’s picked up during his years in law school are thrown off by this enigma of a man. “Please.”

 

“Sam,” he finally relents after half a minute of what looked like an intense internal debate.

 

“That’s better,” Steve nods before emptying his glass, still in need of ample liquid courage if he’s truly going to go through with this insane plan.

 

“That, you believe,” Sam says, one side of his lips curving up. Enticingly. Fringing on mischief. “You think I can’t pull off a Jerome?”  

 

“I think you can pull off a lot of things that’s why I’m sure I’ve got the right man for the job,” Steve admits sincerely. Then he feels he has to elaborate quickly before Sam takes it the wrong way. “I’m Ste-”

 

“Steve Rogers,” Sam interrupts, “District Attorney. Son of Senator, Jeff Rogers who is currently ranked as one of the hardest working members of congress and who’s passed the most laws halfway through his first term.”

 

“I’m impressed,” Steve nods his head and tips his empty glass in a pointless toast. It’s a salute to Sam’s insight instead of applause for his father’s accomplishments.

 

“He’s also a massive jackass,” Sam adds as if he’d been itching to lead with honesty rather than flattery, but was still testing the waters to see what he could get away with.

 

“I knew I liked you from the moment I met you,” Steve chuckles and notices Sam’s tension decline. “But, after such accuracy, I just might propose.”

 

“Hey, look,” Sam straightens, annoyance introducing itself for the first time, “I don’t know what Fury told you, but my contract says nothing about-”

 

“Relax,” Steve touches Sam’s forearm and then quickly snaps his hand away when the touch simply reminds Steve of how good the other man feels. All smooth skin stretched over blatant strength, warm and inviting. And it’s frightening how it makes him feel since all that Steve has seen and touched are the twists and curves of muscle from Sam’s bare shoulders to his wrists.

 

“So, you don’t wanna fuck,” Sam’s eyes are suddenly penetrating Steve’s and Steve wonders if Sam notices his blue orbs nearly blacken with arousal over Sam’s blunt vulgarity, “and you haven’t made some sort of male-order-groom arrangement with my boss. What _is_ this really about and I suggest you choose your words wisely because it won’t be the first time I’ve had to throw myself out of a moving vehicle.”

 

Steve sits back. Steve Sighs. Steve chooses his words wisely.


	2. Chapter 2

They’ve always called him _Captain America_. The All-American, golden boy. Even his first baby footprint was painted in stars and stripes; preserved in a regularly polished golden eagle frame that’s still mounted on the wall in his father’s study. It hangs proudly alongside Steve’s countless certificates from his first Spelling Bee to his last Harvard Degree. And those are all brought to life with the gold swimming medals, mixed martial arts belts and the football trophies stacked on the customized shelf below them.

 

Steve’s father, however, never took any pride in the many photographs Mrs. Rogers would produce after yet another victory. Instead, Joseph chose to clip out and frame only the newspaper articles. From as mundane as the school’s monthly newsprint to as glamorous as the City Press, it seemed terribly convenient how a professional photographer always happened to capture, a journalist happened to write and a publication happened to print. Life’s little miracles just like Steve, his father always used to say.

 

Being the _‘American Apple Pie of his father’s eye’_ (Steve’s always wants to punch anyone who actually thinks that’s cute) has many advantages. But now, at twenty six, Steve finds himself wondering if any of it has actually been achievements of his own.

 

That’s why Steve is sitting in one of the most expensive men’s clothing stores in Manhattan.

 

“The American Apple Pie of your father’s eye”, Sam repeats, not bothering to contain his laughter from behind the curtain, “that’s cute.”

 

“Just precious,” Steve growls out between clenched teeth, knuckles whitening around the armrest, “are you going to keep laughing or can I continue?”

 

“I think we need to go back to the beginning,” Sam suggests matter-of-factly. “You think that showing up with a black boyfriend will be the ultimate _fuck you_ to your racist, bigot old man.”

 

“Yes,” Steve enjoys Sam’s choice of words a little too much.

 

“Showing him that you can run your own life.”

 

“Exactly,” Steve nods, and it all still sounds logical to him regardless of how unreasoned Sam tries to make it seem.

 

“-and that you have a mind of your own,” Sam continues as if they haven’t already gone over this the previous night in the limo.

 

“Precisely,” Steve loses no momentum.

 

“But if that held any sort of credibility, why not just be a _man_ and tell him the truth.”

 

“But I’m _not_ gay,” Steve feels it crucial to make that part clear once again. For the fifth time.

 

“Clearly,” Sam scoffs so softly that Steve barely hears it above the snobbish dressing room music.  “I mean, why go to this extent – posing a phony double-life instead of just telling him how you feel out front about the way he’s running your _real_ one.”

 

“He only responds to insubordination,” Steve says bitterly, remembering how his father had fired their au pair for putting the wrong tie on Steve the day of his Confirmation, yet never once thanked her for the eight years she’d practically raised Steve herself.  “You don’t know my father.”

 

“I feel like I do,” Sam chuckles. “You’ve spoken about nothing but him the entire time. Seems more like you’re focused on what you’re worried about what he might think of you if he finds out what you truly are so you’re masking it with a false reality. You’re testing him. You want to see how he’ll take the truth while giving yourself a way to back out of it if it all goes south. _Hey, dad, I don’t wanna be a politician and I’m gay – you’re dead to me, son – see, I knew that’s how you’d react that’s why I staged this, all I want is your attention – I’m so sorry son, I should have seen it all along, let’s hug._ ”

 

“Thank you Dr. Phil, can we please roll to an indefinite ad break now?” Steve rolls his eyes, suddenly hating that he landed a callboy too smart for his own good. Smart enough to challenge Steve’s logic and actually make more sense. It makes Steve wonder- “why do you do it? No offense, but you seem far too intellectual to be taking off your clothes and letting old men with dark secrets sweat all over you.”

 

There’s a long silence during which Steve wonders if Sam had actually heard the question at all. And then Sam steps out from behind the curtain and Steve forgets how to repeat his question altogether.

 

It isn’t as if Sam doesn’t pull off jeans and a Henley T-shirt far better than Steve ever could if he’d even dare to try, but this is just plain breathtaking.

 

Sam has omitted the tie entirely and instead left a few buttons undone and the bottom untucked making the black silk reek of erotic rebellion. The deep grey suit looks as though it was made for his body and hadn’t just been decorating a manikin minutes before. It broadens his shoulders, lengthens his torso and narrows his waist; and when Steve’s able to pull his eyes away from the telltale outline of how well-endowed Sam is, he can appreciate how the fabric shows off the length and girth of his legs.

 

“We weren’t all dealt good cards, Steve,” Sam says, an aloofness in his demeanor that no amount of Gucci and natural handsomeness can conceal. And then it disappears entirely, expert forgery taking over as he smiles broadly, opens up the jacket and takes a spin. “I hope you don’t mind I changed it up a bit. It’s your sister’s wedding not her funeral.”    

 

“You look-” _explicitly fit for a grown man’s consumption_ , Steve almost says, “you look really good, Sam.”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam flattens an imaginary wrinkle on the front of his shirt and all that manages to do is pronounce the ridges of muscled belly beneath dainty material, “shouldn’t I be wearing my pants under my butt, a tank top and bling to really accentuate the stereotype. I could call your father Papa JR and really give him a heart attack.”

 

“God, no,” Steve laughs at the sudden exaggerated bounce in Sam’s step as he walks the short distance to pose in front of the full-length mirror. Steve gets up and stands behind the shorter man, peering over his shoulder to admire their reflection. And it’s startling how good the two of them look together like this; Steve knows Sam feels the same way by the appreciative smile that touches his lips. “As improbable as this will seem to everyone it still needs to be convincing.”

 

“Then we need a convincing story, sweetheart,” Sam turns around and wraps his arms loosely around Steve’s waist, eyes sparkling brightly up at Steve in a way that makes Steve laugh.

 

Because Sam’s act is so expert that Steve just might fall for it himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now...your views give me steam and direction...even though I have the ending already lol. Thanks for reading and if you love this pair and hate that there isn't enough of them, share the frustration!!! More soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all I offended.

Not quite sure how else to get across to everyone and I haven't been on nor do I really go on tumble. Just wanted to let you all know that I meant no harm by this and should not have responded to comments the way that I did. You'd obviously have to know me to know I sincerely didn't think it would cause such pain and anger to so many as I indulge in Stand Up Comedians and Films making similar if not worse jokes about race/slavery etc and I just find the humour in it. But of course I am not famous, so probably shouldn't have tried it out. 

 

The story actually had a really good message being Steve finding out his father was not against it at all. Steve comes to terms with the fact that he has been forcing what he thought others would think was wrong on his father because he was in conflict with himself over what he truly wanted all along. 

 

Anyhow, I don't expect any forgiveness and accept that I'll keep being viewed as a disgusting and incentive racist to many. I have dealt with brutal, not only racism but xenophobia my entire life being half Zimbabwean and half Msotho while growing up in South Africa yet speaking none of the official languages (apart from English obviously). Dealt with bigots (own family members even disowning me) due to my pansexuality and have been handled some of the worst insults due to weight and scars and lifestyle choices. And through it all I always rely on laughter being the best medicine so much so that I forget not everyone is the same. 

I will take this story down to put your minds at peace. 


End file.
